Vanishing Point - Marc Cerasini [75]
"Look, the fire department is on the way," Curtis said. "Let me speak to the chief when he gets here."
Lhe gray man sighed heavily. "There will be no firemen, Mr. Manning of CTU. You made a lot of noise, but that's all. Some glitch has shut down our entire system. Phones. Intercoms. Cell phones. Radio and television signals. The computers that control most of the hotel's functions are down, too. Needless to say, the fire alarm never made it to the station house."
Curtis remembered how his cell phone had been jammed at the tool and die factory. What they used then could be bought at any high end electronics shop. This time, Curtis guessed they were using powerful microwave transmitter to jam everything within a mile's radius. It was advanced technology, something Bix might have gotten from his connection at Area 51.
"That's part of the plot," Curtis explained. "The terrorists who did this have used jamming technology in the past. They want to isolate the hotel before they destroy it."
Curtis could see the lingering doubt on the gray man's face. "You have to believe me. Check the truck I drove here..."
Just then, a uniformed officer burst through the glass doors. "He wasn't lying," the man cried. "The truck he was driving was loaded with explosives. The detonation cords have been ripped out, so it's not going off, but we found a truck just like it next to elevator shaft seven. The keys have been broken off inside the locks. We shined a light inside, saw the explosives..."
"That's only one of the trucks!" Curtis cried. "You have to start evacuating the building immediately."
The gray man faced his security contingent. "Do what you can. Clear the casino, the restaurants, right away..."
"Sir, there's a VIP event in the ballroom."
The gray man's hand fluttered. "Send a uniformed officer up to warn them. He'll have to climb the stairs. In the meantime I want one of you to take the radio car, get out on the highway until you're out of range of this, this jamming device. Then call for help."
"You don't have time," Curtis warned. "You have to evacuate the tower."
The gray man shook his head, sighed again. "That will be very difficult, Mr. Manning of CTU. Even if we get word to the people upstairs, the elevators are not working, and it would take an hour to get everyone out on the stairs..."
* * *
11:04:07 p.m. PDT
Bix Automotive Center
Browne End Road, Las Vegas
Bix looked up from the new issue of Barely Legal when Roman Vine burst into his office. Eli Blumenthal, the syndicate's plump, middle-aged accountant at his side. Vine tossed an attache case onto the desk, scattering thousand dollar bills.
Bix sat up. "What the hell has gotten into you, partner?"
"The cash the Colombians paid us — the five million dollars. Eli says it's funny money. Counterfeit!"
"Son of a bitch," Bix roared. "All of it?"
"Most of it is phony, Mr. Bix," Blumenthal explained, sweat beading his lip. "The Colombians put real bills on top of each stack. You've got maybe a hundred grand, kosher. The rest is bupkis. Toilet paper."
Bix reached for the phone. "Amigo, huh? Loyal forever? That greasy south-of-the-border piece of shit. I'm gonna call that bastard Rojas right now..."
Down in the garage, the first of two bombs Balboa had planted detonated. This one was close to Hugo Bix's Jaguar. When he was holed up in the garage before the attack, Balboa pretended to admire the vehicle while he placed the explosive charge — not a large one, just big enough to blow the pipe on the garage's massive oil tank. Stored under pressure, the oil gushed into the garage in a black tide.
Bix heard the blast, stood up. "What the f..."
At that moment the second bomb went off. This explosive — planted under the Jaguar itself — was an incendiary device. When the hot jet of burning plasma met the flowing oil, a roiling ball of fire instantly engulfed the interior of the garage, incinerating everything in its path. The fireball was quickly followed by an explosion so large it not only leveled Bix Automotive, it also destroyed the abandoned tool and